Before Night Falls
by FortunataBelladonna
Summary: A missing scroll of dark magic. A little girl with a terrible secret. The hidden past of the Dark Lady. It falls to SI:7 Agent Allimere Windrunner and her allies to answer all three mysteries and stop a powerful demon before it's too late.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: I do not own anything affiliated with the world of Warcraft (though I wish I was making money off of WOTLK; that would be sweet). _

Prologue:

Northshire Abbey, Elwynn Forest

_Blood. So much blood. Agnes was bathing in it. She was equally repulsed and elated. _

_Swirling darkness. Plagued forests growing, spreading. A child screams._

"No, by the Light, no!" The abbess stared down at her screaming charge. She gestured silently and a young acolyte ran over with a fresh damp cloth. He placed it on the woman's brow, his face tense. Victims of physical injury or illness he could handle; it was the mentally ill who brought back ugly memories of his childhood.

"Restrain her, John," Priestess Jocasta whispered. The woman was tearing out her own hair with one hand and scratching her face with the other.

"_You betrayed them," the voice cackled. "They will die because of you. They will be torn limb from limb, their bodies feasted upon by maggots and mongrels. All because of you."_

_What have I done? Oh gods, tell me. Laughter, shrieking peals of it assaulted her ears like a swarm of wasps._

Acolyte John gave the poor woman another sleeping draught. She was laughing now, her eyes rolling around madly. Spittle flew from her gaping mouth. "Gahuoht aie yamaeu kaluae hinguorht et waedahs et foyelaev fo taehaed!" she shrieked.

"What is she saying?" John whispered. Jocasta shrugged, her eyes wide.

"My child, please, it is alright," she cooed softly. The woman's thrashing subsided slightly, though John figured it had more to do with the sleeping draught than anything.

"_Tell me now, where is the scroll?"_

"_The scroll? I know of no scroll."_

_She knew of many scrolls, but why this one? Why did they want it? She found it in the very back of the Alterac library, forgotten. _

_Demonic symbols swirling. Not the regulated runes of Demonology students' texts, but the marks of a true, terrifying evil. Her eyes burned._

Another acolyte rushed over to Jocasta and John. "Mother Abbess," she gasped. "Two people are here to see you about the woman."

"Stay here," Jocasta ordered John. She followed the acolyte out of the infirmary.

_The scroll. Oh why did I take it? I mustn't tell where I hid it. The Light preserve me, but I am so tired. I think I'm in pain, but I forget what that feels like. I must be mad, to forget such a thing._

A very grave human man and woman were waiting for the abbess. "Yes?" she asked.

"I am Agent Ronika Sloan," the woman said. The man remained silent, and he was not introduced. "We are here about a certain patient of yours."

"SI:6?" Jocasta asked. Agent Sloan declined to answer, but her bearing and steely gaze gave away at the very least some connection to Alliance intelligence. "Why would you want to know about a mad young woman?"

The pair exchanged glances. "We believe she may be a missing person," Sloan said cautiously. "You may have heard of Agnes Marian."

"The missing mage? Of course; everyone's heard about that story." Jocasta didn't bother to ask why SI:6 was concerned with a missing persons case.

_If I close my eyes it will all just fade away. _

John glanced down at the young woman. She was finally asleep. He was reminded of his mother; after her fits ended, she was just as calm.

_I will leave them with something to remember me by…_

The room was beginning to become very warm. John rolled up the sleeves on his wool robe. The patient stirred. John felt uneasy. Sweat continued to pour from his face. The woman whispered something. John leaned closer. "What did you say, ma'am?"

_I fear no evil._

Jocasta, Sloan, and the unnamed man all jumped at the sound of anguished screams. "John!" Jocasta shouted. She made to run into the infirmary, but Sloan grabbed her arm.

"Mage fire!" the man yelled. He crooked his fingers and crossed his arms. A shield of arcane energy formed around the three just before a wave of flames burst out of the hospital room. Above the roar of flames Jocasta could hear distant alarm bells. After what felt like an infinity, the inferno abated, and the mage dropped his shield.

The three wary survivors crept into the burnt infirmary. "John?" the abbess asked tentatively. All that remained of her favorite acolyte was a pile of charred bones, and the unpleasant scent of smoldering flesh. Oddly enough, the woman responsible remained untouched, though the bed she once laid on was no more than a pile of ashes. However, upon closer examination, it was clear that she was dead. Her wrists were bloody messes. To Jocasta's horror, she realized that the young woman had torn open her own veins with her fingernails.

"Agnes?" the man whispered. He burst into great gulping sobs.

"Agnes Marian's father," Sloan muttered by way of explanation. "One of the lead Kirin Tor representatives in Stormwind. His daughter was somewhat of a prodigy. Fire, as you can see, was her specialty."

Jocasta didn't hear any of this, for she had slumped over in a dead faint.

xxx

**Somewhere in the Twisting Nether**

The mage was dead. The demon Itz'azhi felt her die. Felt it, and savored it. Her death spelled for him victory. Now the Scroll, the tool to this lesser demon's domination, was no longer protected. Once some foolish mortal uncovered its new location, the scroll would be easy to locate and claim. That is, if the mage hadn't sealed it in another manner.

"And they thought the Scourge plague was hell," the demon chuckled.

xxx

**The Arathi Highlands**

"Hey, Dr. Copperbrew, get over here! I think I might have found something!"

Brennan Copperbrew hurried over to where his excited crewman was digging. "This better not be another empty whiskey bottle," the dwarf grumbled.

It was not a whiskey bottle, or, for that matter, a bottle of any kind. Rather, the crewman had uncovered a small pewter casket elaborately decorated with a series of runes and elaborate seals. Copperbrew picked it up (it was surprisingly lightweight). For some reason, the box made him uneasy. He recognized one of the seals as belonging to the Kirin Tor. "Huh," the archaeologist said. He turned it around, searching for a way to open it. It appeared to be magically sealed. One of the runes he recognized, though he wasn't sure why. He had the urge to hurl the casket into the deepest reaches of the ocean.

"It's not proof of an ancient Gnomish enclave, but at least it's something." Copperbrew decided that today would be the last day of excavation. He suddenly felt the need to seek shelter within Ironforge's ancient, impenetrable walls.

_A/N: I hope the flashback sequences weren't too muddled. _


	2. Eyes of Violet, Nerves of Steel

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, besides the characters I invent. As usual, please read and review._

_I should also point out that the events of this story take place 25 years after Warcraft III. _

**Chapter I:**

**Eyes of Violet, Nerves of Steel**

**SI:7 Headquarters, Stormwind City, Elwynn Forest**

Mathias Shaw, head of the SI:7 and its sub-departments, was not a very happy man at the moment. To his credit, he hid his ire very well; only the incessant drumming of his fingers on his oak desk gave away any hint of irritation with the two snooty mages seated before him.

"So let me get this straight," he said, ceasing his finger drumming and folding his hands on the desk. "You're asking me to send my best agent, who just returned to Stormwind from a very long mission, to Ironforge to pick up some package from the museum there?"

"We're not asking, Lord Shaw. We're _ordering _you to send Allimere Windrunner to retrieve the casket," the female mage said arrogantly. Her male counterpart murmured something about broccoli. "This is a matter of Alliance security, and not just any green mage or messenger can be trusted."

Shaw gritted his teeth. These mages were more insufferable than the most indolent of nobles! One was haughty and the other was senile; both of them, however, wore the sigil of the elite Violet Eye, an organization that, officially, did not exist. Though they'd probably never seen a battle there entire lives, after the King's return and subsequent reconstruction of the kingdom's hierarchy the members of this shadowy magical group could, technically, order him around. It still did not sit well with the veteran spy and soldier.

"Be that as it may," Shaw conceded. "There are plenty of individuals who can be trusted. Why request Agent Windrunner?"

"Lady Windrunner is, shall we say, especially suited for this particular job. She is a necromancer, is she not?"

"That information is classified." Allimere Windrunner did have necromantic abilities, but first and foremost she was a combat and linguistic specialist, an Alliance agent, loyal to the end- even if she tended to be rather ruthless (which, in this line of work, was a blessing rather than a hindrance). Shaw, who, along with Allimere's godfather, had helped to raise the orphaned girl, felt rather protective towards her. Not like a father, per se (because what kind of father taught their child how to kill?), but like an uncle. It always irked him when mages pried into her other, more dangerous, abilities. "Regardless, I don't see what an affinity with the dead has to do with delivering a relic. If I didn't know better, Your Honor, I'd say you were attempting extortion."

"Away with the melodrama, Mathias Shaw," she growled. "If you must know, a necromancer is necessary to determine the contents of the casket."

"What, a dead body? It doesn't take a necromancer to figure out that there's a corpse inside a coffin," Shaw said sardonically.

"A scroll," the elderly male mage said, the first coherent utterance of his since they'd arrived. "If it isn't there, she'll know. If it is there, she'll know, and then die." The other mage cleared her throat loudly. The old man resumed talking to the floor about the delicious meal he'd had the night before.

Shaw raised his brows. "What do you mean, she'll die?"

"Just an old man's ramblings," the female mage dismissed.

Shaw slammed a fist on his desk. The mages jumped. "Damn it, you are going to tell me what it is that we're dealing with! And don't even try lying to me, either; believe me, I'll know."

The old mage stared at him with glassy eyes. "A scroll may or may not be in that box. If it is not, we all may live to see another day. If it is…" he trailed off, extending both hands heavenwards. "A new plague will be released upon the world, one that no one will be able to stop."

"What does Allimere Windrunner have to do with any of this?" he asked, his voice low.

"Everything," the woman said. She gazed into the distance. "_The assassin alone can find the light. Find the light, destroy the blight. All before the fall of night._" She blinked several times then turned to Shaw, who appeared rather shocked. "As you can see, this is far more than a mere delivery. This is, to use a cliché, a matter of life and death."

xxx

**The Deeprun Tram, En Route to Ironforge**

Allimere Windrunner leaned back against the cool leather seat. She was exhausted. She had just barely returned for debriefing about her last mission when Mathias sent her to Ironforge. Officially, it was to pick up a parcel from the museum for the Violet Eye, but the fact that _she _was the one going, coupled with the thinly veiled fear in Mathias's eyes as he gave her the mission statement, hinted at something bigger. Something far more deadly.

"Are we there yet?" the raven perched on the back of her seat asked. Ichabod was his name, and he had been given to Allimere when she was six years old by her godfather, Thalidis. She had never quite figured out how or why he could talk, and merely assumed that he was either an unknown species of raven (for his talons were much sharper than those of his brethren), or some kind of demonic construct. Either way, he was an extremely useful and loyal (though gluttonous) familiar/friend. That is, as long as he kept speaking in public to a minimum.

"No; we just left." Allimere closed her eyes. Going to Ironforge would be nice, even if it was for official reasons. Her former professor, Brennan Copperbrew lived and worked there. _If only I didn't fell so uneasy, _she thought, before drifting off to sleep.

Brennan was waiting for her at the terminal. He had aged slightly since the last she saw him. His once flaming red hair had dimmed slightly, and he had lines around his dark eyes. The main thing Allimere noticed was that he was wringing his hands rather nervously, and none of the usual merriment showed on his countenance. "That's not a good sign," she muttered to Ichabod on her shoulder. Instinctively she placed her hands on both sword hilts at her waist.

The archaeologist spotted her and rushed over. "Something terrible has happened," he said in a hushed voice. "The casket, the one I found with all the runes and whatnot on it, well, it's gone."

"Gone? Did someone steal it?" The uneasiness Allimere felt intensified.

"They must have. I walked into my office this morning, and it was a mess- not an organized mess, but a ransacked mess. My safe was smashed, the charms all broken, and the casket was taken." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "I drew some of the symbols on the box, to try and translate them." He gave her the paper. She unfolded it. Smudges and random runes littered the page. "Those smudge marks you see, well they're not from me being a slob. When I tried to draw some of the symbols, the ink just smeared all over." He pointed to a singe mark. "One of them burnt itself right off the bloody page! The ones I did get to draw, half of them I couldn't get the meaning."

Allimere recognized most of them. "Some of these are from the Naga tongue," she said. "They're symbols never to be drawn, according to Naga superstition. To draw them would be to invite destruction- not something anyone wants to do."

"How do you know them then?"

She inwardly sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was to reveal that these symbols were in necromantic texts she'd read. "Some more… obscure arcane grimoires have these listed. Only the most powerful Naga sorcerers dared to even gaze upon these markings, and they wrote down their findings- far away from their homelands, I might add." Glancing down at the parchment again, she repressed a shiver of fear. "All these runes warn of danger and plague; I don't even want to know what the unprintable ones said."

"What do you suppose is in the box that needs to be guarded so?" Brennan asked, his voice unnaturally high pitched.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, we have to find it." She didn't need to add, _Before someone else does. _


End file.
